Triptych
by highlands girl
Summary: This is a companion piece rather than a sequel to Fugue: three little stories that take place coincident with the final chapter of Fugue, during Mama Manoso's birthday party. These were meant to be Ranger/Stephanie stories told by their friends and family. Of course, sometimes friends and family members have stories of their own to tell.
1. RangeMan on Duty

A/N: This and the next two chapters might not make sense if you haven't read Fugue. Here is a quick synopsis of that story (with spoilers!) Ranger returns home from a long mission to find Stephanie once again living in his seventh floor apartment. He's a little shocked to learn that she now works out every day, never leaves the building without a gun and back up, and perhaps most importantly, she's not shy about her feelings for him. When she introduces herself to a new RangeMan recruit as "Stephanie Mañoso," he demands answers from Tank.

Tank explains that Stephanie is suffering from a rare disorder called dissociative fugue. It causes people to make sudden, unexpected travels away from home in association with the inability to recall all or part of their past. Some people assume a completely new identity, while others are just confused about their identity. Fugue is usually triggered by some sort of emotional trauma.

Fugue is about Ranger's search to elicit the truth about that trauma. Key players in the story include Manny, Ranger's sister, Celia, and his cousin, Selena. Manny is Steph's partner and we learn that he came to RangeMan from the FBI where he was a gifted profiler. Celia is a respected neurologist and the one who diagnosed Stephanie's condition. Selena Rodriguez (yeah, she really is that Rodriguez!) brings Ranger a copy of an old newspaper clipping that provides the answers he's been searching for:

Boulder, Colorado—_Private funerals were held today for George Edward Foster and his estranged wife Rosemary Mazur Foster. In a presumptive murder-suicide, George Foster shot his wife in their home last Saturday and then shot himself. Mazur- Foster had sought emergency protection from her husband, alleging domestic abuse. Their two week-old daughter will be released to the custody of family members in Trenton, NJ. _

I am indebted to Dog in the Manger and latetolove for their help and encouragement along the way. Latetolove helped me get started, and Dog in the Manger helped me finish. Thanks to both of you for not giving up on my and my story. All mistakes are mine.

**Manny's POV**

Hector was alone in the control room when I entered, the room silent except for the faint hum of the equipment.

"¿No vayas a la fiesta?" _You're not going to the party?_ Hector glanced up at me and then flicked his eyes back to the monitors.

"No, soy un 'RangeMan on Duty' de esta noche," I explained.

Tank and Lester were guests at Mama Mañoso's birthday party. Vince, Binky, Ram, and Bones were providing security, along with a team that Antonio had brought from Miami. Bobby had a rare weekend off to spend with his girl in Princeton. With the entire core team out, I was left in charge at Haywood. "RangeMan on Duty" was the most senior staff person remaining on the premises, authorized to make decisions if shit hit the fan, at least until one of core team members returned. Tonight, that was me. I was hoping for a shit-free night.

"¿Estephania… la has visto?" _Stephanie… have you seen her?_ Hector asked me.

I nodded. I had caught sight of her as she climbed into the passenger seat of the Turbo.

"She looked beautiful tonight. I saw her in the parking garage while I was making my rounds_." That coral dress did something amazing to her eyes… was there a color called bluer than blue?_

"Que hermosos todos los dos." _So beautiful… both of them,_ Hector sighed.

I didn't swing that way, but I had to agree with him about Ranger. In a perfectly tailored Armani tuxedo, he was like a work of art. I could appreciate him in the way I could appreciate Michelangelo's David.

I cleared my throat and tried to organize my thoughts. "Stephanie staying on four or on seven?" I was pushing Hector to speak in English. It would be harder for him to fantasize about our boss that way in English.

"She has apartment on four, but she got ready on seven tonight." Hector was smiling, and I tried to tune out the thought that he was practically broadcasting. _Lucky, lucky chica. _

"That's good," I said, and I really meant it. Ultimately, Stephanie and Ranger being together would be good for all us. If Wifey finally got together with the boss, we wouldn't be in danger of her leaving RangeMan, or us, again. It bothered every one of us every time she went back to Morelli and then we didn't see our friend for weeks at time.

"So, any trouble?" I asked, jerking my head toward the monitors.

"Que es tranquilo... por el momento." _It's quiet … for the time being._

"I might as well get started on the paperwork that Tank left for me," I said to myself as much as to Hector. Tank hated paperwork, and he'd had plenty of it while Ranger had been out of town. He had taken advantage of this rare opportunity to share some of his burden. I made it to the door of the control room before Hector called me back.

"¡Miras!." _Look,_ he said.

When I turned to look at the monitors, I caught sight of three familiar figures, standing in front of the reception desk. Without saying another word to Hector, I left the control room and bolted down the steps, two at a time, toward the lobby.

"I demand that you call my daughter immediately," Helen Plum ordered Brett. She stood in front of him, ramrod straight, eyes narrowed, arms folded tightly across her chest. It was an impressive attempt at intimidation from a woman wearing a pink sweater set and pearls.

Brett ran his fingers through his spiky blonde hair before he answered her. From the look on his face, I could tell that he was getting frustrated and struggling to come up with an appropriate response.

"No can do, Mrs. Plum. She's not here."

Helen's voice raised an octave. "She's not staying in her apartment, and her cell phone service has been disconnected. We assumed she would be staying with Joe Morelli, but he told us that he hasn't talked to her in weeks." She took a step closer to Brett, pressing her palms against the reception desk. "He told us that she was living here."

"She's not in the building," Brett answered evenly, neither confirming nor denying Steph's current address. "If you want, I can take a message for her, maybe ask her to call-"

Until this point, Frank Plum and Edna Mazur stood a few feet behind Helen, quietly watching. Finally, Frank took a step forward and spoke up. "If she's not here, maybe we could talk with Ranger for a minute."

Now Stephanie and I had spent a lot of time together, both as partners and as friends, while Ranger had been out of town on this last assignment. I'd accompanied her to the Plum house a few times for dinner. I was a little shocked to see that Frank looked like he'd aged ten years since I had seen him last. Uncharacteristically, he was wearing a rumpled golf shirt and unpressed khaki trousers. Apparently, Helen wasn't ironing this week, and I had to wonder how she was working out her anxieties.

"Ranger's not here either," Brett replied. "They're both-"

"Out of the building," I interrupted, stepping up to the desk. No sense in giving information to the enemy. "Manuel Ramos," I reminded Frank, offering my hand to him and ignoring Helen. "Can I help you with something?"

"We have a right to see our daughter," Helen cut in. Her voice was shrill.

Brett gave me an exasperated look. _You're the RangeMan on Duty_, the look said. _Do something_.

"Why don't we step into the conference room?" I suggested, motioning them into a small room off the lobby. The room was decorated in soothing blues and greens. We didn't use the room much. Ranger wasn't really into soothing.

I gestured to the chairs around the polished mahogany conference table, inviting the Plums to have a seat.

Helen chose to remain standing, apparently willing Frank and Edna to do the same. I noticed the raised, red blotches that had appeared on Helen's neck and remembered that I had seen the same sort of rash on Wifey when she was really upset.

"We need to see our daughter," she told me. There might have been a hint of pleading in the tone. It was hard to separate it from all the anger, though.

"Stephanie is a reasonable, responsible adult," I said, attempting a conciliatory stance. "I am sure she will make contact when she is ready to talk."

"It's our right," Helen hissed, her fists clenching at her sides.

I tried to draw on every negotiation technique I had learned at the Bureau, as I responded, "Didn't Stephanie have a right to know the truth, Mrs. Plum? As tragic as the situation was, didn't she have a right to know about her birth parents?"

Helen shook her head, not wanting to hear me. "She can't just shut us out, after all we-"

"After all you did for her, Mrs. Plum? Is that what you were going to say?" My words were deceptively polite. My tone was anything but. "What about what you didn't do? You didn't make her feel loved and cherished, like she really belonged. You didn't honor her mother's memory, _your sister's memory_, by cherishing the part of her that lived on in Stephanie. Instead you pretended that she never existed."

"But Lottie Krupski-"

"I don't want to hear about Lottie Krupski's daughter, Mrs. Plum." I interrupted brusquely. I was quickly losing patience.

Helen blinked at me, confused. "Lottie Krupski doesn't have a daughter," she said. "She was my best friend when I was growing up. When she was nine, her parents told her that she was adopted." Helen paused, as if she needed to search for the words that came next. "Lottie was never the same after that, never really happy. She just couldn't seem to quit wondering about her 'real' family." For just a moment, I saw sadness and regret instead of anger. "I didn't want that for Stephanie. _We_ are Stephanie's real family."

With that, Helen turned on her heel and marched out of the conference room.

Frank looked at me helplessly and his eyes followed his wife out the door. He took a step in that direction, and then he turned back toward me. He was clearly torn. Like always, his wife expected him to follow her lead. No doubt, she was in the lobby, tapping her foot, waiting for him to join her and drive her home. Finally Frank said, "If you see my Pumpkin, tell her I love her."

"Why do you always call her that?" I asked him softly.

"Stephanie is the name _they_ gave her." His voice cracked a little as he spoke. "Pumpkin is the name that _I_ gave her."

With one last, sad shake of his head, he slipped out the door, and I was left alone in the little conference room with Edna. Throughout the interchange with Helen and then Frank, she had remained uncharacteristically still and silent, standing close to the door, one hand on the doorjamb for support.

Now, I'd always liked Stephanie's grandmother, despite her reputation for groping and pinching any available RangeMan. Honestly, she had always struck me as a sassy teenager, trapped in an old woman's body. In fact, the last time I saw her, she was wearing a hot pink velour track suit with 'Sexy" stenciled across the butt. My recollection was that her hair matched her tracksuit. Today, in a shapeless housedress, printed with small, faded blue flowers, she just looked old and tired… very, very tired.

"How could you let it happen like this, Edna?" I asked her as gently as I could.

"I didn't like it, but at the time, it seemed like the best option. It was the only way Helen would agree to raise Stephanie." Edna's voice wavered. "My husband and I thought Helen and Frank were Stephanie's best chance for a normal life." Her shoulders slumped, as if she was carrying the weight of the world, and she swayed a little on her feet, tightening her grip on the doorjamb.

I didn't bother asking her to sit. I just sat down and pulled the chair next to me away from the table, hoping she would take the hint. Under normal circumstances, no RangeMan in his right mind would take the chair _next_ to Edna Mazur. Much safer to take the chair across the table. Tonight, though, I didn't think I needed to worry about any randy behavior from Stephanie's grandma.

"So why didn't you take her?" I pressed. "Did you not want her?"

For a fleeting moment, I saw the old spark in Edna's eyes. Then it was gone. "Want her? Of course I wanted her. I wanted to take that baby girl and use her to fill the hole in my heart that was left when Rosemary died." Edna paused. "Turning her into a replacement for my dead daughter wouldn't have been right. She deserved her own life."

"You could have given her that," I persisted. "You would have done right by her-"

"You don't understand," she said, pressing her hands to her temples as if to suppress the painful thoughts that had surfaced. "I didn't think I could… not at the time." Edna stared at me for a moment, clearly wondering how much to tell me. After a moment, she seemed to make her decision and spoke again. "I'm not proud of this, but I went to pieces after Rosemary died. I blamed myself for missing the signs that might have saved her."

"You were depressed, " I said. "Completely understandable given the circumstances."

Edna shrugged. "They didn't call it that. The doctor just gave some pills for my nerves, but they didn't really help. I didn't really feel less sad. I just felt numb. There were days that I couldn't seem to get out of bed. Then Harry had his first heart attack and I thought I might lose him too…" Her voice trailed off.

Edna looked heartbroken and I felt a twinge of guilt about pushing her. Then a memory of Stephanie popped into my mind. When we'd dropped by her parents' house for dinner one Friday night, she was flying high. She'd brought in two skips without serious incident and she had earned an 'A' on her Spanish test. Helen had just sighed and asked when Stephanie was going to settle down and be a good Burg wife so they could be proud of her. Wifey had looked no less heartbroken than Edna did now. My decision made, I forged ahead.

"So Helen insisted that no one could ever tell Stephanie about her birth parents, that was the deal?" I clarified. "She and Frank took her even though they didn't really want another child?"

Edna shook her head vigorously. "No, it wasn't like that. Helen and Frank wanted another child desperately, but they couldn't have one. After Valerie, Helen had three miscarriages in a row, all boys they think. The doctors said it would have been dangerous for Helen to keep trying."

Edna's hands twisted nervously in her lap and she looked like she wanted to bolt. Out of loyalty to Wifey, I decided to press on.

I ventured another guess about the Plum family dynamics. "Helen and Frank desperately wanted a son, but they got Stephanie instead… a unsatisfactory replacement for all of the boys that were lost. Is that why Steph grew up such a tomboy, and why Helen treated her the way she did?" This was all starting to make sense to me. At last, the profile of the Plum family was coming together.

But Edna just raised both hands in protest, letting me know I was off base. She looked upset and, when she started rummaging around in the big black pocketbook she carried, I wondered if she was just going to pull out her gun and shoot me. _That _would be classic Edna Mazur. I was surprised when she pulled out a lace hankie and dabbed at her the corners of eyes.

"Listen to me. You've got it wrong. Growing up, Helen and Rosemary never really got along. Rosemary was the baby of the family, and I think Helen was a little bit jealous." Edna hesitated. "See, Rosemary was a bit of a free spirit… just like me. Might be the Hungarian gypsy blood we have in us. We just naturally understood each other in a way that Helen and I never did.

"Growing up, Stephanie was the spittin' image of Rosemary... had her spirit, too. I don't think Helen could ever get past that. She wanted both her daughters to be like_ her_, not Rosemary."

"And you let Helen treat Stephanie the way she did because _you_ felt guilty about loving Rosemary more," I chided her gently.

"It wasn't like that," she protested. But we both knew that it was.

Edna hung her head. I thought she might retreat from the conference room in search of Helen and Frank without saying another word, but she surprised me. She stood up, drew herself up to her full height and looked me straight in the eye. There was no shame there, not anymore. "After that disaster with Dickie Orr, I couldn't just sit back. From that point on, I tried to teach Stephanie to make better decisions about men than her first mother did." With her hands on her hips, she asked me, "So Mr. Ramos, how did I do this time around?"

I met and held her gaze, pausing before I answered. I thought about the scene I had witnessed in the parking garage earlier tonight. Ranger and Stephanie had walked to the Turbo, fingers intertwined. After he had buckled Steph into the passenger seat, Ranger paused, gently caressing her cheek. I knew she must have said something to him when I saw a rare, full-fledged smile crease his face. "How long?" she had asked. He gave her one of his patented, one-word responses. "Siempre." _Always._

I reached out and patted Edna on the shoulder. "This time, you did good," I told her. "Stephanie's made her choice, and she chose well."


	2. Selena

**A/N: **This chapter takes place during Mama Mañoso's birthday party and stars Lester and his cousin, Selena Rodriguez. Yeah, she is that Rodriguez. We learn from Ranger in Fugue why Rodriguez is never seen. Spoilers below:

_I was in Pakistan when the accident happened, my last deployment as a Ranger. It was the summer Selena turned twenty. She and her boyfriend had been headed to Point Pleasant for a picnic. They were hit head-on by a drunk driver, and for reasons that weren't entirely clear, the car had burst into flames. The boyfriend died at the scene. Selena had survived, but just barely. The crush injury to her right leg had been too severe to repair; the doctors had amputated below the knee. Her left arm and hand, as well as her face and chest, had been severely burned. She had spent three months in the burn unit and nearly six months in a rehab hospital. She regained a bit of mobility in her left arm, but the scars on her hand kept her fingers curled into a half-open fist. She had learned to walk again with the help of a prosthesis. Most importantly, she had learned to smile again. _

_In the midst of her recovery, I had returned home and started RangeMan. As soon as she was able, Selena came to work for me._

Again, latetolove helped me get started and Dog in the Manger helped me finish. I am grateful to both of them for their expert guidance. All mistakes are mine. Did I mention that most of the characters belong to JE?

_**Lester's POV**_

I scanned the crowded ballroom, looking for her. No doubt, she would be seated at a table in the corner, her back to the wall. It took me a minute, but I finally caught sight of her, put on my game face and sauntered in her direction.

"Dance, chica?"

She shook her head at me. "I don't really dance much."

"You danced with Steph and Julie," I reminded her.

"Yeah, and you saw how _that_ turned out." She gave me a prim smile and folded her hands in her lap.

"Your virtue is safe with me, Selena. We're related… _unfortunately_." Our abuelas were sisters. That made Selena and me second cousins… or first cousins twice removed… or something. Not that it would have mattered if we weren't. I wasn't that brave. Ranger would kill anyone who fucked with Selena. In high school, he almost did. Still… I gave her a slow, appraising look. That blue dress covered a lot of skin, but still hugged her curves in all the right places.

"Cut the crap, Lester," Selena said, smacking my shoulder with mock indignation. Now, my cousin had seen my seduction routine before. She had critiqued it. Hell, she had helped me perfect it. Although her words were harsh, I could tell by the faint upturning of her lips and the lowering of her shoulders that she wasn't completely unaffected by it. And she wasn't really upset with me. What woman didn't want to be reminded that she was beautiful? Selena turned away from me slightly, so that I could only see the perfect side of her face. She hesitated for a moment and then flushed crimson.

"Um, thanks though. Occasionally, I still like to remember what it's like to flirt with a man." She turned back and smirked at me. "Even if it's just pretend and that man is _you_."

"What about Harry from Accounting?" I asked her in all seriousness. "We all think he likes you."

"We?" Her voice raised a notch. "Who's discussing my love life… or lack thereof?"

I gave a guilty shrug and wondered if the famous Santos smile worked on women who were blood relatives. It was worth a try.

Regrettably, Selena seemed unfazed by my charm. "What the hell," she said. She tried to look indignant at my intrusion into her private life, but she wasn't very successful. We'd been friends for a long time, Selena and I. To a large extent, we know each other's secrets… at least the ones that didn't involve classified material. Ranger was her de facto big brother, but I was her confidante. Selena might have been able to hide her attraction to Harry from Ranger. Harry was half in love with her, and _he_ probably had no idea that she was interested. But Selena could rarely hide her feelings from me. I knew the moment she decided to let down her guard with me. She sighed, leaned in closer and asked quietly, "Steph says Harry is a sneaky bastard. Do you think that's true?"

I almost resisted the urge to roll my eyes at Selena. "You think?" I asked.

Harry, our mild-mannered accountant, was the one who made the illusion of "Rodriguez" possible. The elusive RangeMan who kept everyone's inbox perpetually full was nothing more than an elaborate ruse crafted by Selena, sanctioned by Ranger and executed by Harry. Selena labored happily in the anonymity of her office two blocks away and each morning, she sent Harry a stack of files by courier. Video surveillance allowed her to monitor the inbox at every desk. When the stack of files in a particular inbox was reduced to a near manageable level, Selena sent Harry a text, and he surreptitiously added more. Although, he was occasionally sighted coming and going on the fifth floor, no one ever saw him adding anything to the inboxes. He was that good.

Harry, in fact, had been a forensic accountant at the State Department before he joined RangeMan. Now he spent at least part of every day lurking in the proverbial shadows, slipping in and out of cubicles like quicksilver, doing Selena's bidding. _Damn straight, he was sneaky._ And so was she. But now Selena was sitting next to me, chewing on her bottom lip, looking vulnerable. For the first time since the accident, she was freely admitting her attraction to a man, and she needed some reassurance. I knew from past experience that it would be easier for us to talk frankly about her love life if we were both a tiny bit drunk.

"You know Steph doesn't like it when people keep secrets from her," I said neutrally. I gave that a moment to sink in before I added, "If you won't dance with me, will you at least drink with me?"

Selena nodded without much enthusiasm.

"Wine cooler then?" I asked her, eyebrow raised.

"For God's sake, Lester," she snapped back at me. _Beer, now! _was what she meant.

As I rose from my chair, I dropped a kiss on her cheek — the scarred one — before I headed to the bar. I returned with two bottles of Heineken.

"They look happy," she said, taking a sip of beer and tipping her head toward Carlos and Stephanie.

They were dancing… sort of. Her arms were around his neck while his arms wrapped around her waist. Her head rested on his shoulder until he bent and whispered something in her ear. She lifted her head to look at him, a soft smile on her lips that were just inches from his. I was willing to bet they had forgotten that there was anyone else in the room.

Normally, when Stephanie and Ranger came within three feet of one another, they put off enough sparks to count as a fireworks display. This was different and much more intimate than any of their stolen moments in the garage or the elevator. I felt a touch of guilt, as if we were witnessing a very private moment. Truth be told, I was also overcome by a pang of longing for what they had.

Silently, Selena and I watched them dance, until the silence became unbearable.

"Beautiful always gets her man," I said lightly. We could have been talking about her BEA skills, but we weren't.

"And Ranger always gets the girl," Selena replied softly. She was quiet for so long, I thought she was going to let it drop. Then she just had to add, "Does he know?"

I tipped up my beer and took a long drink before I answered her. "Realistically, how could he not?"

Growing up, Carlos and I were the closest of friends and fiercely loyal to one another. Sure, we were competitive on the baseball field in the summer and on the ice in the winter. We competed just as hard for our Abuela's attention and for the last cookie in her kitchen. But when the competition suddenly involved a woman… well, that changed everything.

"Maybe more importantly, does she know?"

I sighed and wished for another beer. I knew the alcohol wouldn't fix anything, but I wondered if it might make me care a little less, at least for tonight.

"I had my chance, Selena. I even had a second chance when he walked away from her." I didn't have to add, _But idiot that I am, I didn't take it._ That was painfully obvious as we watched her gliding around the dance floor in someone else's arms.

Selena lifted her beer, but paused before she took a drink, the bottle just inches from her lips. As she studied me thoughtfully, I was reminded of the fact that looks could be so deceiving. Probably no one else in the room figured Selena for a troublemaker.

"Ask her to dance," she said.

My heart said that one dance, one harmless dance, was a socially acceptable way to indulge in the fantasy that had plagued me for years. Finally, I could wrap my arms around the woman, who haunted my dreams at night. My head shouted, _No! This is a very, very bad idea. Touch her and you'll never be able to let her go._

I watched her long blond hair swing gently as she danced. I saw her smile. I looked at Selena and tried to muster a smile of my own as I said firmly, "Rachel Martine is happily married."


	3. Celia

A/N: This is the final chapter in Triptych and it's from Celia's POV. You may remember Ranger's older sister from Fugue:

_My older sister Celia was a Latina wunderkind. She had graduated from high school at 17, and then had entered medical school at Northwestern after only two years of undergraduate work. After a neurology fellowship in Boston, she had joined the School of Medicine faculty at Columbia. She had a busy clinical practice and a Department of Defense grant to study treatment of post-traumatic brain injury. Her work was yielding real benefit for soldiers returning from Iraq and Afghanistan … a fact about which she frequently reminded me. It was rumored that Celia was on track to be youngest department head in Columbia history. It wasn't surprising really… Celia loved to be in charge._

Thank you to everyone who is reading along. I wasn't sure anyone would still be interested since I posted Fugue so many months ago.

I'm still grateful to Dog in the Manger for her guidance and her beta skills. All mistakes are mine.

_**Celia's POV**_

The Newark Club was packed with family and friends who had turned out to help my mother celebrate her sixtieth birthday. Maybe, I had been exaggerating when I told Carlos that our father had invited most of Newark and at least half of Miami to the party. Looking around though, it seemed, I wasn't too far off.

I sat alone at a table at the edge of the dance floor, tapping my foot in time to the music and trying to soak up some of the happiness of the party. It was practically a miracle that all of the Mañoso children and grandchildren were in one place tonight. Experience had taught me that Carlos was likely to get called away at the last minute on one of his super, top-secret government missions. I was pleasantly surprised, when he had shown up right on time with Stephanie on his arm. And he was smiling.

I took a sip from my glass, letting my gaze wander around the crowded room. It was a rare treat to see Selena in a public place. She had lost her usual melancholy look and was practically radiant in the blue cocktail dress that Steph and I had convinced her to buy. From where I was sitting, it looked as if she were having a good time tormenting Les. Before I could move closer to confirm my suspicions, I felt a familiar hand on my bare shoulder.

"Sparkling water, Hija?" my father said, gesturing to my glass. "Let me get you a glass of champagne, before the toasts begin."

"Thanks, but I better not, Papa," I said with a smile, patting a small, gold evening bag on the table in front of me. The digital pager tucked inside had been mercifully silent tonight, but these things were difficult to predict. "I'm on call tonight."

My father made a disapproving noise as he sat down next to me. "Call? Someone else at the hospital couldn't take call for one night, so you could just enjoy your mother's birthday party?"

"I'm not on call for the hospital tonight," I responded. "I'm on call for the war."

I was the principal investigator for Department of Defense-funded study designed to evaluate a new treatment for brain-injured soldiers. It was important that the treatment begin as soon as possible, and someone always need to be available to talk to medics in the field.

With a heavy sigh, Papa shifted uncomfortably in his chair. I'd like to think the sigh was meant for the war and not me, but I couldn't be sure.

"You planned a wonderful birthday party, Papa," I told him sincerely, hoping to distract him from his disapproval of my work schedule. "Were you disappointed that Mama figured out the surprise?"

My father sighed again, but this time he smiled at me indulgently. "You mother is an amazing woman. You know that, don't you?"

I let go of a tiny bit of the tension I was feeling. Tonight was not the night to argue with my father, and my mother was a safe topic. Amazing didn't begin to describe Maria Mañoso.

"Did one of her sisters spill the beans?" My mother had four sisters, and they were as thick as thieves. I could see how one of them could have let a little detail about the party slip.

"No, nothing like that." My father relaxed, settling in to tell me the story.

"I had everything so well planned. The invitations were mailed from RangeMan Miami, and Antonio handled the RSVPs. I arranged my schedule so that I was only away from home for a short time each day to meet with the caterer, the band, the florist… "

My father let his voice trail off, and I felt a little guilty that I hadn't offered more help with the party planning. Things had been so busy at work and then Tank had called about Stephanie… I took another sip of water, meaning to collect my thoughts and apologize, but my father spoke first.

"Then one day, two weeks ago, after your mother had served me a lovely dinner, she gave me a serious look and told me that we needed to talk."

_Uh oh_, I thought. In my experience, those words were never a good sign, but Papa was smiling.

"Do you know what she said to me?"

I shook my head at my Papa. Honestly, with my mom, there was no telling.

"She told me that she loved me, but asked me why I felt like things needed to change."

"Change?"

"For more than forty years, we'd done everything together. We'd raised our children, built a business, handled every challenge that came our way—"

"We provided you with a few of those." I reached out and squeezed his hand.

"You think, Hija?" My father rolled his eyes at me. "She reminded me that we had never kept secrets from one another and wondered why I wanted to start keeping secrets now."

"So you told her about the party," I surmised, studying my father's face for a moment. At times like this, I was in awe of how much my parents still loved one another after more than forty years of marriage, and couldn't help but wonder about the importance of the 'no secrets from one you love' rule. I suspected that both Carlos and I would have done well to learn that lesson from our parents. Maybe, Carlos finally had.

Papa was staring at me with concern, as I forced a half smile and tried to pull myself out of the gloomy reverie I had fallen into.

"A husband and wife should be a team, Celia." All traces of a smile had disappeared from my father's face.

I smoothed away imaginary wrinkles from my yellow silk dress and tried to protest. I heard my father's words, but more importantly, I heard what he implied. "Julio wanted to be here, Papa. The lectureship at Berkley was a huge honor, and he couldn't do anything about the timing." I was pretty sure most of that was the truth. The lectureship was quite an honor, and my husband had made it clear that it was important to his career.

The band started another song, and the familiar words almost drowned out my father's snort of disapproval.

_You are so beautiful ... to me, can't you see?_

"We danced to this song at your wedding," my father whispered softly, pulling me to my feet, "it's been way too long, since I danced with you."

I didn't even think about protesting. Dancing was a good reason not to continue the conversation my father was pushing. Now, I had a good excuse to just put my head on his shoulder and think about happier times. But when Papa cleared his throat a couple of moments later, I worried that maybe I wasn't off the hook yet.

"Your mother is still in shock over her birthday gift. It's much too extravagant."

I shrugged a little, pleased at the change in topic. "A cruise to the Galapagos is one of things on her bucket list. We all chipped in." All of the Mañoso children understood the sacrifices that our parents had made for us, when we were growing up. Now, it was our turn to spoil them a little, if we could.

"Having her granddaughter here is gift enough," he said softly.

"Carlos arranged it," I answered noncommittally. _Rachel still doesn't talk to me_, I added silently. "I think Stephanie probably helped. I understand she and Julie stayed in contact after the, um, incident last year." Every week, they chatted by email, and occasionally, they talked by phone. Even when she was living with the cop, and Carlos was off doing whatever in the hell he does, Steph was taking care of his daughter.

"She's good for him," my father observed.

Before I answered, I thought about the woman who had introduced herself to me as Stephanie Mañoso. "They're good for each other," I answered simply.

As my father and I danced, I caught sight of Stephanie and Carlos at the edge of the dance floor, her arms around his neck, and her head on his shoulder. He had one arm wrapped tightly around her waist, while the other hand gently caressed her hip. They were just across the room, and yet, I was willing to bet they were a million miles away.

That's why it was a shock, when Stephanie lifted her head, caught my eye, and smiled broadly at me, understanding dawning in her eyes.

She raised up on her toes just enough to whisper in Carlos' ear. When I saw her nod to my father and me and then glance at Julie, I knew what she was saying. _Dance with your daughter_.

Julie looked thrilled, when her father held out his arms to her. When she reached him, she tentatively placed her hands on her Carlos' shoulders, while he placed his hands at her waist. They swayed stiffly for several minutes, my brother smiling and talking to Julie the whole time. At the song ended, Julie wrapped her arms around his waist in a tight hug, burying her face in his broad chest. Carlos looked surprised for a moment, then… happy. As he planted a kiss on the top of Julie's head, he looked utterly content, like he had everything in the world a man could possibly wish for.

When the band started up again, this time with a pulsing beat, I saw my brother grin. Looks like it was time for my niece to learn to salsa.

"Another dance, Hija?" my father asked me, his eyes twinkling. "I'll take it easy so you can keep up."

He meant it as a joke, but I wasn't sure I _could_ keep up. All the Mañoso men had mad dancing skills, and I was out of practice. I couldn't remember the last time Julio and I had been out to a club.

"Time for you to find Mama. You deserve a worthy partner for this song." That, and I really needed to check my pager, not that I was going to admit it to my father.

I didn't see my niece or Stephanie again until after the toasts were completed and the party was winding down. Abuela and I had retreated to a small alcove just outside the main ballroom. Suddenly, Tank appeared, Steph at his side and a sleepy Julie cradled in his arms. He caught Abuela's eye, silently asking permission, then he turned to Steph.

"He has a couple of things to take care of and then we'll head for home. Do you want to wait here with Abuela and Celia?"

Steph nodded, sinking down onto the small couch opposite Abuela and me, and Tank deposited Julie next to her.

Abuela looked fondly at her great-granddaughter, "Nieta, it is surely past your bed time."

Julie looked as if she wanted to protest, but a yawn escaped her. She put her head down in Steph's lap and pulled her legs up to rest on the sofa.

"I wish I could have a bedtime story." She looked up at Steph hopefully. When Julie had first entered the ballroom tonight, I was struck by how grown up she looked. Now, I was reminded that, in many ways, she was still a little girl.

Steph sighed. "I'm not very good with bedtime stories, Jules. Sometimes, I read to my nieces at bedtime, but we don't have any books here."

"I have an idea!" Julie suddenly looked less tired. "Abuela, will you teach Steph a Cuban bedtime story?"

"A Cuban bedtime story?" Abuela repeated thoughtfully.

"Like the ones I used to hear, when I was a baby, you know, before..." Julie's voice trailed off uncertainly, but it was easy for me to fill in the blanks. Before her Cuban father came home from saving the world. Before her parents divorced. Before her Cuban family disappeared from her life. There was no way she could remember the stories I whispered as I rocked her to sleep. Maybe they taught Cuban folk stories in Miami schools?

"Did you have a particular story in mind, Nieta?"

"The story about Martina is my favorite," Julie said shyly, "if you remember that one.

Abuela looked serious for a moment, as if she was considering Julie's request. Julie had the most innocent, angelic look on her face, as she smiled at her great-grandmother. This was the female version of the patented Mañoso "blank" face. Steph seemed charmed by it, and she stroked Julie's long, dark hair in an unexpectedly maternal fashion. The Mañoso women weren't fooled though, at least I wasn't. I understood that Julie wasn't choosing a story at random but she wanted, perhaps needed, Steph to hear this particular story.

Abuela's eyes sparkled, when she said, "Yes, I think I remember enough to tell that story." _Nope, Julie wasn't fooling her either._

Abuela shifted in her chair a bit, folding her hands in her lap as she began the story.

_Once upon a time in Havana, there lived a beautiful cucaracha named Martina._

"Cucaracha?" Steph asked uncertainly. She seemed to recognize the word, but from the look on her face, she thought she'd misunderstood.

"Sí, Estephania. Martina was a beautiful cockroach."

"The most beautiful in all of Havana," Julie chimed in.

_The time had come from Martina to marry and her whole family wanted to help her find a husband._

"Poor Martina," muttered Stephanie. "This is going to end badly."

Her mother gave her a beautiful comb for hair. Her sister made her a beautiful lace shawl. But instead of a gift, her grandmother gave her un consejo incredible.

"Some shocking advice," Steph translated.

"Exactly!" Julie beamed at Steph. "You've been studying hard. I can tell."

Abuela sent Steph an approving glance before she continued with the story.

"_You can't be serious!" Martina exclaimed. She stood in front of her abuela, shaking her head in disbelief._

"_You are beautiful, and there will be many suitors, who will seek your hand in marriage. Choosing the right one could be tricky," her abuela explained._

"_But explain to me how spilling coffee on the shoes of a potential suitor will help me choose the best husband?" _

_Her abuela smiled. "He will be angry! Then you will know how he will treat you, when he loses his temper. You will see, Martina. The Coffee Test never fails."_

"I wish, I had known about the Coffee Test," Stephanie said, a sad look on her face. "I bet it will save Martina a lot of heartache."

Abuela reached out and patted Stephanie's knee kindly.

_Martina wasn't so sure about the Coffee Test, but her abuela had never steered her wrong. So she moved to a small table in her family's garden, where she would greet potential suitors. It wasn't long before the first one arrived._

"_¡Que bonita cucaracha!" crowed Don Gallo, the rooster._

_As he strutted around the garden, the sunlight glinted off his feathers. Gold. Scarlet. Martina couldn't help but notice his good looks._

"_I will be even more beautiful with you on my wing," he boasted._

"_Coffee, Señor?" asked Martina, staring guiltily at his shiny wingtips just before she tipped up the coffee cup._

Julie squealed excitedly. "This is going to be good! What do you think happened, Steph?"

_Don Gallo squawked in anger, as the steaming brown liquid hit his shoes. "Clumsy cockroach! You'll have to learn better manners when you are my wife!"_

_Such a charming proposal," muttered Martina. "I'm afraid I cannot accept." The rooster stalked away, leaving wet coffee footprints on the garden path._

"Good riddance. I can say from experience that would have been a disaster." Stephanie looked sad. Julie laced her fingers with Stephanie's and gave them a reassuring squeeze, as Abuela resumed her story.

_It wasn't long before the next suitor arrived. Martina could smell him before she could see him. Señor Cerdo was the town sheriff._

"No kidding?" Stephanie interjected.

Abuela nodded. _He was a powerful man in Havana and was considered quite the catch… but he also had a powerful smell. Martina found it difficult to focus as her eyes began to water. "Señor Cerdo must be thirsty," reminded abuela. Martina pressed the corner of her lace shawl to her nose and reached for a cup and saucer._

"_Buenas tardes, Señor. Café?"_

"_Such an auspicious beginning to our relationship!" Senor Cerdo oinked. "We've not yet said our vows, and you are already taking care of me. Perhaps you have prepared a bit of cake to go with the coffee?"_

_Martina shook her head as she filled the coffee cup to the brim. "Lo siento, Senor. I'm sorry. No cake but I have plenty of coffee-"_

_When the café cubano splashed on his loafers, Don Cerdo squealed like a stuck pig. Immediately, there was waving of arms and stomping of feet—_

"That sounds about right," Steph muttered, nodding her head.

"_Calm yourself, Don Cerdo," Martina said wearily. "I'll help you clean it up."_

_But the pig was not to be pacified. "There will be no end to the cleaning, when you're my wife!" _

"Can you believe that guy?" Julie asked, her head resting in Steph's lap. "He wants a housekeeper and not a wife."

"Oh yeah, I can believe it," Steph nodded her head sadly. "Run, Martina. Run far away."

_Martina was ready to give up. Perhaps she wasn't meant to marry. Before she could throw up her hands in despair, her grandmother pointed to a figure at the edge of the garden, standing quietly in the shade of the hibiscus bush. Martina took one look and felt an unfamiliar but not unpleasant tingle on the back of her neck. "What about him?" her abuela asked._

"Who do you think it was, Steph?" Julie interrupted.

"It was a black cat," said Stephanie dreamily. "A cat that looked just like a black panther with silky soft fur."

Julie looked confused. "I thought it was a mouse," she said.

"Not a mouse," Steph shook her head vehemently, "it can't be."

"It could be a cat," Abuela said seriously. "Every family tells a slightly different version of the tale. The important part of the story is that he stepped out of the shadows and talked to Martina."

"_Hola, Martina, cucaracha hermosa."_

"_You think I am beautiful, Señor?" asked Martina shyly._

"_I can see that you are beautiful on the outside, Señorita. But from the stories I hear of your kind heart, I know you are beautiful on the inside too."_

"Aww," said Steph. "That's sweet."

"He might sound sweet, but he still has to pass the test," Julie replied. "Her abuela's not to going to let him off the hook."

"_Offer your guest some coffee, Martina!" abuela said firmly._

_Martina gasped, "No, por favor, abuela, surely Señor Gato doesn't want coffee at this time of day." _

"Can you guess what happens next, Steph?" Julie was so excited that the question came out like a squeal.

"She blew up his Boxster, and he didn't get the least big angry?"

Abuela's eyes widened, and she tugged the corner of her shawl up to hide the wide smile that crossed her face.

"No silly! He spilled his coffee on her shoes! He had a Cuban grandmother too! He knew the test, and guess what? Martina didn't get the least bit angry. She just laughed. And that's how they figured out they were meant to be together."

"So Martina found her true love," Stephanie said softly. "All along, I guess I just needed a Cuban grandmother."

"A Cuban family," whispered Julie fiercely, wrapping her arms around Steph's neck in a hug. "You need a whole Cuban family."

From where I was sitting, it looked as if Steph had found one.

A/N: Martina the beautiful cockroach is really a Cuban folktale. I was inspired by the version told by Carmen Agra Deedy. This beautiful storybook is the kind that I imagine Steph and Ranger would read to their children, but that is another story!


End file.
